


oh, what risque games we play

by lastbattlecry



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Boba Fett is a Little Shit, Boba is a Fashionista, Cute, Dinner dates, Event Fill, F/M, Gen, Gift Fic, Happy Ending, Jango get Bullied by his son, Minor Violence, and adorable, gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28418019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastbattlecry/pseuds/lastbattlecry
Summary: Of all the things Shaak expected when she opened her door that morning, the beaming face of Boba Fett wasn’t one of them.
Relationships: Boba Fett & Jango Fett, Boba Fett & Shaak Ti, Jango Fett/Shaak Ti
Comments: 16
Kudos: 58





	oh, what risque games we play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Minchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minchen/gifts).



> Happy ficmas, Minchen!!!!!!!! I hope you enjoy it!!!!

Of all the things Shaak expected when she opened her door that morning, the beaming face of Boba Fett wasn’t one of them.

“Hi, Miss Ti!” Boba said with a blinding grin, rocking on his heels with his hands behind his back. “Did you have a good dinner yesterday?”

Shaak blinked slowly down at the cheeky little boy, who wasn’t nearly as subtle as he thought he was in trying to set her up with his father. “It was… enlightening.”

“That doesn’t mean it was good,” Boba pointed out, all of eight and too smart for his own good.

“No,” Shaak conceded, dipping her head down regally and smiling when Boba giggled at the gentle tinkling of the chimes on her elaborate headdress. “It wasn’t enjoyable for me, but it was good in other ways.”

Boba’s head tilted, eyes sharp with intelligence before he buried it again with a sweet smile. “Want to come over and have dinner with me and  _ Bu _ ? I promise it’ll be more en-enj- fun!”

Shaak gave Boba a  _ look _ , knowing exactly what he was doing. Boba just blinked back at her, gold-brown eyes big and shining with that false innocence that all children seemed master. She couldn’t help the amusement welling up, or the way her heart melted at the adorable sight.

Children know exactly how adorable they are, and how to weaponize it to maximum effect.

“Going by what I can smell when your father cooks,” Shaak said, twitching her nose just to make Boba giggle and try to wiggle his own nose, “I might need to bring my own food.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Boba agreed, wrinkling his face and sticking his tongue out, the revolting memory of many burned meals so strong in Boba that she could taste the char in the back of her own throat.

She coughed behind her hand, lip curled where Boba couldn’t see. Yes, she definitely would be bringing food.

“If I bring dinner,” Shaak mused quietly, “will you be able to bribe your father for credits to get some of that pie from the bakery? You know the one.”

Boba’s entire being seemed to light up with the unholy glee of someone told they were  _ allowed _ to create chaos. “The big one with all the sugar cream?”

Shaak gave Boba a secretive smile, with a hint of fang. “Get two.”

His smile stretched wide across his face, Boba gave a textbook salute and bolted down the hall of the apartment building, already shouting for his father.

She shook her head with a trilling laugh, the chimes on her head ringing merrily.

It looked like she has a dinner to attend.

* * *

  
  


….Oh gods, what was he going to  _ wear _ .

“ _ Bu _ , it’s not like it’s a  _ date _ ,” snarked his current pest, and Jango glared at Boba’s reflection in the mirror where he was checking his complexion between two different shirts. “What?”

“I know it’s not a date,” Jango snapped, tossing those shirts down and picking up a deep burnt orange one that was almost the same shade as her skin when-

He growled and threw the shirt away, stalking over the bed to dig through his bag. He had to have  _ something _ in here…

He jerked back when a small fist shoved a deep blue shirt under his nose, waving it around.

“This one,” Boba insisted, smacking Jango in the chest with it. “Wear this one, it makes you look taller, and doesn’t make your skin look spotty.”

“My skin is spotty?” Jango wondered, voice muffled as his vision was obscured, Boba standing on the bed to wrestle the shirt over Jango’s head.

“Green is not your color,” Boba said, making a triumphant noise as he finally got Jango’s head through the correct hole.

“Oh.”

Dammit, Jango  _ liked _ green.

Boba smoothed out the creases, frowning as he picked at the seams until they sat level, then leaning back to run a critical eye over him.

_ Why is it _ , Jango wondered to himself,  _ that I feel so much judgement from such a tiny body _ .

It was a common feeling lately, most often when Jango made a fool of himself in front of a certain beautiful togruta. Which he understood, but still.

Such a small being shouldn’t be able to throw so much judgement out.

“Hmmmm,” Boba rocked on his heels, head tilting in different directions. “Spin for me.”

“What.”

“Spin! If your butt doesn’t look good in the pants, and the pants don’t match the shirt, you’ll look like a  _ di’kut _ .”

“Why do you even know so much about this?” Jango groused as he took a step back and spun in a few slow circles, deciding to humor his son when the little shit twirled his finger in the opposite direction.

“The HoloNet,” Boba answered absently, frowning at his pants. “Yeah, take these off.”

“What-  _ why _ ? Wait. The  _ HoloNet?! _ I didn’t give you access to that!”

Boba gave him a look like he was slow, and hopped off the bed to dig through the bag against the wall, throwing various pairs of the same color pants everywhere. “Miss Ti did, I said that her dress was pretty, and she showed me the store she got it from.”

“Huh.”

“Don’t you have  _ anything _ other than black and  _ beige? _ ” Boba asked, sounding disgusted as he shook the bag upside down as if to make sure it was empty. He threw it to the side as well, staring up at Jango with accusing eyes.

Dammit, Jango  _ hated _ having Boba look at him like that.

“We’re on a  _ job _ , Bo’ika,” he said as sternly as he could. He sighed when Boba flinched and mumbled an apology. “But it wouldn’t hurt to get some new clothing.”

It was worth the agony Jango knew this was going to be just for the sweet smile his greatest pride gave him.

* * *

  
  


Shaak hummed to herself as she moved through the, admittedly small, kitchen in her apartment. It was cold out, snow beginning to fall fat and heavy from the sky. She didn’t have much by the way of food edible for humans, but luckily there was a store right down the street that had all the basics she needed for a casserole.

It reminded her of the days with her padawans, them hanging onto her skirts or on a stool as she taught them how to properly cut meats and stir sauces to get the maximum amount of flavor.

That was so long ago now, but Shaak has found that it wasn't something she’s easily forgotten.

After a brief mishap with the pepper, everything was going smoothly. Casserole was in the oven, wine (and sparkling juice for Boba so he didn’t feel left out) in the conservator to chill, with a big pot of spicy vegetable curry bubbling merrily on the stove top.

While she did enjoy spicy foods on occasion, she didn’t enjoy them near as much as Mandalorians did, which was why a  _ mild _ spicy curry was already packaged up for her later.

(She was  _ never _ going to tell Mace about how she choked when she tasted the spicy curry recipe she got off the HoloNet, he would  _ never _ let her live it down.)

There wasn’t much for her to do for the next five hours, just occasionally stir the curry, which gave her  _ more _ than enough time to do some….  _ advanced reconnaissance _ .

The local underground crime ring was the whole reason she was here after all.

She checked the curry, turning down onto low, stirring it a few times. Then she slipped the pot cover on it and summoned her robe from across the room with a little frivolous use of the Force, lips tugging in a smile as she imagined the way Master Yoda would huff and grumble about it.

But Shaak was a master in her own right, and as much as she respected and loved the ancient Jedi, she was old enough to have her own opinions. And the ability to back them up.

Locking the door behind her, she pulled her hood up, fitting the cloth over montrals so they slipped into the cut outs, long used to the ticking feel of the wool brushing against them. With her hearing no longer impaired, she slipped out the employee door at the end of the hall, making for the exit on the south side of the building, nearest to the markets.

And the crime syndicate’s current hideout.

It was simple luck that Shaak didn’t stand out in the crowd, togruta not an uncommon sight on the planet, and she wasn’t the only one wearing a thick coat and scarf over her face.

She didn’t hurry, but she wasn’t moving slowly either, occasionally stopping at a stall as they began to close for the evening to browse, making it look like an evening stroll in the lazy snow.

“See anythin’ ya like, Missus?” Asked the weathered zabrak manning a stall that sold beautifully made daggers and knives. Some looked practical, while others were  _ clearly _ just for all decoration. A baffling phenomenon that Shaak just didn’t understand. Why have a knife if you weren’t even going to use it? “Sumthin’ for the partner?”

Shaak smiled kindly at the stall keeper, touching her forehead with her knuckles in a traditional zabrak greeting. “I’m afraid not this time, Honored Elder.”   
  


“Ha! Ya flatter an old hunter,” and the stall keeper smiled, revealing strong teeth and a broken fang. “Ya don’t want nuthin’ for the Givin’ Day?”

Shaak tilted her head, praying that this wouldn’t arouse suspicion. “I apologize, Elder, I haven’t lived here long.”

“Bah,” they said, waving a hand as if to brush her words away. “Ya not the first to come here. Givin’ Day is when ya gift the important peoples in yer life sumthin’ they really need, or wan’.”

They gave her a sly look, eyes glinting with mischief.

Shaak was amused by the cheerful nosiness she could feel coming off of the old zabrak, and felt her own lips curl in a smile she rarely allows.

“Yer Mando, perhaps?”

Shaak trilled a laugh, the noise ringing across the market. “He’s not my anything.”  _ Yet. _

“Aww, dammit,” they said good naturedly. “Looks li’ I lost dat bet.”

Shaak couldn’t help the way the wide grin flashed across her face, the way her whole body shook with the force of her laughter.

She could feel the good cheer from the beings around her, the ringing trills and rumbles from other togruta as they listened in on the conversation.

It was different being on a calm, welcoming world like this as just another sentient making their way in the galaxy. Shaak found that she… liked it. She liked it a lot.

It made her feel  _ good _ . Like she was part of something  _ special _ , something  _ different _ than just being a Jedi.

“Well, since ya single then…,” the zabrak said leadingly, wiggling their brows in a ridiculous way that just made Shaak laugh again.

“If I didn’t plan on luring me a Mando, I’d take you in a heartbeat,” Shaak said coyly, fluttering her lashes.

It got her a delighted bark of laughter, a thin hand slapping the table holding their wares. “Ah, Missus, yer a delight. Here,” they reached out and plucked a shimmering etched dagger off the display, handing it to her. “For entertainin’ an  _ Elder _ like me self.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Shaak said, trying to pay for the beautiful piece, and being refused.

“It’ll help ya woo that shiny boy, yeah?” The stallkeeper cackled, shooing her off. “Don’t be a stranger now!”

And so Shaak continued on her way to shake down a mob boss, as was her duty as a Jedi, but with the sheath of a silver knife at her waist.

* * *

  
  


“Mmmm… no. Not that one.”

For kriff’s sake. If Jango hears those words  _ one more time. _

Jango could feel a muscle around his eye twitching, and he had to consciously unclench his jaw before he ground his teeth into nubs.

_ Boba is having fun _ , he repeated to himself, a mantra he had been saying for roughly three hours now.  _ Boba is having fun, and making friends. _

And truly, Boba did seem to be having the time of his life choosing between different colors and styles and fabrics. And the tailor, a pink skinned zeltron named Hiyu, seemed to adore his son, smiling indulgently every time the boy disappeared into the rows of clothing and came back with an armful of eye searing colors for them to bully Jango into.

While he could do without the zeltron making eyes at him, Jango had to admit that it…. wasn’t all that bad.

This wasn’t really something he found enjoyable, but it was… tolerable. It helped, that Boba was grinning bright and mischievous at him, seeing how much Jango would let him get away with.

Which was apparently a lot, if only so Jango could keep his boy smiling at him like he hung all the stars in the sky.

“The blue or gold one?”

The zeltron tilted her head to the side, eyeing Jango. “Hmmm… try the blue one, with the gold trim. No, no, that one.”   
  
They shoved Jango into the changing room again, this time with a full outfit of shirt, under tunic, overcoat, and a pair of blast weave pants designed to look like something a Republic senator would wear.

He grumbled and cursed, no longer needing Hiyu’s  _ enthusiastic _ assistance with how to get the kriffing buttons to line up correctly, but still struggling with the slick little clasps that hooked into each other to keep things in place, nearly invisible to the naked eye.

An ingenious design, really.

Didn’t make it any easier for his blunt fingers to  _ use _ though.

He finally managed to get the outfit on and looked in the mirror, staring at the way he didn’t recognize his own reflection.

Jango didn’t know the last time he actually looked at his own face for more than a quick shave, something he had mastered when he was a spotty teen with the  _ Haat Mando’ade _ and his-

He turned sharply from the mirror, busying his fingers with smoothing the lapel of the overshirt, just like how Jaster, how his  _ buir _ , would fuss over the straps of his own armor.

Shaking his head of memories of a time long dead, he opened the door and stepped out, pausing at the nexu grins on Boba and Hiyu’s faces.

“I feel like this is a trap,” he said dryly, walking onto the little stage in the middle of a circle of mirrors, and he refused to meet his own eyes in them. Boba’s eyes. His mother’s eyes.

Damn, he’s feeling maudlin today. Must be the weather.

“Trust your feelings,” Hiyu said dryly while Boba cackled in glee. Jango made a face at the common Jedi phrase, the familiar spike of rage he felt when those sorcerers were mentioned like a dull stab in his sternum.

The zeltron stepped close, smoothing the edges of the overcoat as she eyed his shoulders. “Hmmm… Boba, what do you think? The gold goes well with his coloring.”

She spun Jango, and as loathe as he was to put his back to her, he let her pose him for Boba to eye the outfit critically. “Maybe a belt? The shirt keeps uh- billowing? It makes him look fat.”

Well, isn’t that a shot to the ego.

“Boba,” Hiyu scolded as she searched for a belt, and Jango grimaced at his son.

For his part, Boba did look contrite, looking up through his lashes at Jango with big sad eyes. Something Jango could never do. Arla said it was because he had too much bastard in him. Which Jango agreed with. He  _ was _ a bastard.

“Boba,” Jango said, stepping off the little stage so he could kneel in front of his son. Boba looked down at the floor, twisting a hand in the hem of his shirt.

“I know, I know,” Boba said in a rush. “It was mean and I shouldn’t say it.”

“It was,” Jango nodded. “There are better ways to insult someone than body shaming. It shows a lack of intelligence if you have to result to that.” Boba peeked at Jango’s face, and Jango smiled slightly, a little mean. “And you’re the smartest person I know.”

Boba smiled, shy and pleased. Then he tilted his head, looking Jango up and down. “A belt would make it look like you  _ actually _ know what you’re doing.”

Jango barked a laugh, reaching up to ruffle Boba’s hair and press in for a  _ keldabe _ . “C’mon, womp rat. Let’s get this finished.”

“‘ _ Lek, buir _ ,” Boba beamed, and threw his arms around Jango’s neck in a way he hasn’t in a while, and Jango held him tight.

They’d be alright.

* * *

  
  


It had been longer than Shaak wanted, since she left her chili on the stove burner, and she was getting a little  _ aggravated. _

“This would go much smoother for you if you would just  _ surrender _ ,” Shaak called out, pitching her voice so it carried.

“Will someone blast this skug?!” Screamed the crime lord she was after as he tried to flee through the door she had already melted to slag.

“It’s rude to call names,” she said, then raised her blaster and shot out the control panel for the lights.

She grinned, fangs on display, and lunged.

  
  


* * *

“We should get Miss Ti a present!”

Jango blinked and looked over to a skipping Boba, who was beaming up at him. “What?”

“A present!’

“A fine idea,” called a twi’lek from a stall, grinning sharp teeth at them. “I’m Ir’ahla, and if  _ you _ -,” she raked her eyes up and down Jango’s form appreciatively, “-are the one giving it to her, she sounds like a being of fine tastes.”

Jango shifted on his feet, silently cursing his inability to say no to Boba’s akk puppy eyes. He was wearing the outfit, all shimmering gold and deep blue. He felt like he was on  _ display _ ,  _ naked _ . He wanted his armor. “...thanks.”

The bright pink twi’lek smiled merrily, spreading her bejeweled arms to bring their attention to her table. “I have many wares, good sirs. You’re bound to find something you like.”

Boba skipped up to the table, gripping Jango’s hand so he was forced to follow. He peered over the edge of the table, having to stand on his toes, and Jango had to smother his smile at the sight.

“Do you have any tea sets?”

Ir’ahla tilted her head, one lekku slipping off her shoulder where it had been wrapped around her neck. “I do, several in fact.”

She moved, pressing a button to cycle through the panels of her displays, various goods of varying quality switching out before a panel full of various tea services slid into place and lit up.

Jango leaned down to Boba while Ir’ahla fussed over her products. “Why a tea set?”

Boba gave Jango another one of those withering looks, “Miss Ti is always drinking tea, but she makes it in a cooking pot and drinks it out of a broken ladle.”

“Oh.” Jango… hadn’t really noticed. He hasn’t been around Shaak as much as Boba has been, with Jango asking her to watch Boba while he goes out to work. Not that Jango didn’t trust Boba to look after himself but.

He didn’t want to risk the most important thing in his life.

“ _ Buir _ ,” Boba said, scandalized as he popped back down on his heels. “How can you  _ not know that _ ?”

Jango could feel his ears burn, and he gave Boba a peeved look. “I’ve been  _ busy _ .”

Boba made a face at him, then raised his arms in a universal demand. “Pick me up, I can’t see over the table.”

He sighed as he picked up his son, setting the boy on his hip. “You’re gettin’ too big for this.”

Jango was solidly ignored as Boba began to browse, pointing at things he wanted a closer look at. Ir’ahla gave Jango an amused look, sympathy written in her expression.

They were there for a while, until Boba  _ finally _ decided on a simple earthen ware set. The pot was made of simple clay, painted with warm oranges and sky blue, short and squat. The tea cups were much of the same, shallow bowls painted white and dark blue, the entire set lined with silver in the cracks.

“Oh, that’s a good set,” the twi’lek said warmly, already getting out a padded box for it. “My mother made that when I was a little girl, and when I dropped it, she waited until I knew how to fix it before making me do it.”

Boba turned his head to look Jango in the eye, and smiled. Jango was helpless to him.

He turned to the stall keeper, tugging on Jango’s arm to make him go faster. “We’ll take it!”

  
  
  


“ _ Bu _ , we have to get two pies from the bakery.”

“ _ What _ ?” Jango asked, trying not to drop the box with Shaak’s gift as he was bumped into in the evening crowd. A devarian snarled curses at him, and he spit them back, hand snapping down to grip Boba’s shoulder tight. “Why are we doing that.”

Boba gripped Jango’s belt, talking louder to be heard over the dull roar of the rush. “Miss Ti asked us to bring dessert since she’s cooking.”

“Boba, I wish you had  _ told _ me this,” Jango snapped under his breath, bullying his way across the traffic to the opposite side of the pathway where the quaint little shop was. “Let’s get this done then.”

Twenty minutes later, and almost one hundred credits lighter, they exited the shop to see the streets much less crowded, and snow gently falling in the glimmering lights strung up along the street.

“Ohhh,” Boba said in awe, eyes wide in delight at the picturesque sight. “It’s snowing!”

Jango stopped and looked around, the sight of his son playing and giggling in the fresh power making the dark memories of his greatest tragedy stay distant in his mind. “C’mon,  _ Bo’ika _ . Let’s go finish getting ready, hmm?”

Boba ran back up to him, grinning bright and happy, and covered in snow. “ _ ‘Lek, bu! _ ”

Jango shifted the bags to one hand, and wiggled his fingers at Boba who smiled even wider as he reached back, holding three of Jango’s fingers in his hand.

They walked down the street, hand in hand, and Jango felt content in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

  
  
  


“What’s that noise?”

“Mmm?”

Boba was looking intensely off to the side, head cocked. “I hear blasters!”

Jango was beside Boba in an instant, body tense as he listened, straining his hearing as far as he could. Then he was cursing, hating the fact that he wasn’t in his armor. “Bo, stay here!”

Boba gave Jango a betrayed look as he stumbled back under the sudden weight of their purchases as Jango dumped them on him and ran, pulling his blaster from the holster across his back.

He could hear the fight getting louder, coming from a dilapidated warehouse up ahead of him. Just as Jango reached the doors, there was a thunderous noise of something meaty getting hit  _ hard _ , and then a wookie sized armored man was suddenly crashing through the rusting metal wall.

“ _ Son of a karking- _ ,” Jango swore as he rolled to the side to avoid getting sprayed with shrapnel. He surged to his feet, blood hot and pumping, and roaring for a fight.

He took a running head start, shooting the hole larger so it didn’t catch on him, and immediately buried his vibroblade into a weequay’s neck, using his forward momentum to shoulder check a twi’lek into a pile of crates.

Jango was aware that there was fighting further in, shouts and yelps of pain playing chorus to blaster shots and solid meaty sounding hits. With a sharp wish for his armor, left in the ship so he could blend in better, he dove into the fray, vibroblade in one hand, and pistol in the other.

There were two thugs over behind some crates, another up on the catwalk, three taking cover behind a half wall off to the side. Jango smiled nastily, “Six on one? That’s hardly fair.”

“Put the blaster down and we  _ might _ let you live,” called the woman up on the catwalk, clearly thinking she had the upper hand.

“Put down yours and I’ll kill you quickly,” Jango countered, slipping a thermal detonator from a hidden pocket in the coat. Just as the woman began her monologue, he lobbed it at the crates, already sprinting to find cover behind a support beam.

The explosion shook the ground, and the structure groaned and shuddered, and the fighting stopped for a moment as everyone seemed to hold their breath, waiting to see if the roof would collapse on top of them.

“Are… are you  _ insane? _ ” Someone shouted at him, and Jango laughed.

“I’m  _ mandalorian _ ,” he taunted, and opened fire.

  
  
  


The fight passed in flashes after that, and Jango was thankful in the back of his mind that his clothing was made from heavy blastweave, and not linens. He wished multiple times as heat scalded across arms for his armor, but he made due. His opponents were fierce and committed, but so was he.

It took Jango longer than he wanted, but  _ finally _ the last one fell, a smoking hole through their skull. He stepped out of cover, slowly making his way around the room, checking around every piece of potential cover. There were still sounds of fighting happening in the other room, but Jango wanted to be  _ thorough _ .

His  _ buir _ would rise from the grave in shame if he didn’t check, and then got shanked in the back because of his own stupidity.

Circuit done, Jango made his way down the short hall, eyeing the door that seemed to be blown inwards off its hinges. It looked familiar in a way that had his hackles rising, grip tightening on his weapons. He just couldn’t place  _ why _ .

With one last wary look at the warped metal, he pressed against the wall and peered around the side to take in the room. And was immediately  _ floored _ when he caught sight of brilliant sienna skin flashing in the crimson light of emergency lights.

Shaak was  _ kote _ , glory upon the world in the glimpses that Jango got of her moving through the room, a thick, tall staff a weapon of mass destruction in her hands. She wielded it like an extension of herself, skirts flaring out as she spun, metal staff catching the light, and slammed it end first into someone’s face, an impressive spray of dark blood fanning from a clearly broken nose.

_ Oh, kriff me _ , Jango thought desperately, heart pounding double time in his chest. She was a nova, reconstructing the world around her how she saw fit, never where her opponents thought she would be.

Shaak clearly didn’t need his help.

Which was a good thing, as all of Jango’s blood seemed to have left his brain.  _ Please kriff me. _

There was a snarling shout, and it jolted Jango into moving before he was even aware of doing it, blaster up and firing before he cleared the corner. A body fell from the catwalk, shattering the crates it landed on, and Shaak spun to meet his eyes, her own large and flashing.

He shivered under her gaze, knowing that she could probably take him in a fight, and not just because her togruta physiology gave her distinct advantages. The shawl she usually wore was gone, and the broad expanse of her shoulders were bare, thick muscles coiled under smooth skin.

She was taller than him, he already knew this. But seeing her tear her way through a crowd of fighters like she was batting aside branches in her way was  _ doing things _ to him.

Shaak could break him in half without trying, and he would thank her.

“Duck!” She shouted at him, suddenly a blur of that predator speed heading right toward him, and Jango only managed to make a confused ‘Huh?’ noise before she was tackling him to the ground.

He bit his tongue as his head cracked against the duracrete, and a sudden explosion  _ too close _ to where he was standing burned his retinas and made his ears ring.

Groaning, Jango tried to get up, momentarily confused as to why he was being weighed down, and made a strangled noise in his throat as Shaak smoothly sat up on his hips,  _ with his blaster in her hand _ , and fired a single smooth shot out of his line of sight.

There was a  _ ping! _ of something being broken off, startled shouts, and then an even bigger explosion, one that had him rolling so his bulk was pressing down onto Shaak, arms coming up to try and muffle the noise to her montrals.

The ground shook, and metal screamed as it was ripped from its moorings, part of the building collapsing around them.

Jango could feel strong arms wrap around him, gripping his coat tight, and heat washed over them, searing even through his thick clothing.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, waiting for the shaking to stop, but it was Shaak who moved first, wiggling under him so she could push against his chest. Jango went warily, wincing as his back pulled.

He looked around them, whistling faintly at the absolute  _ carnage _ around them. “The fek did you  _ hit? _ ”

Shaak made a musical trill, something he had learned meant she was laughing. “The power exhaust for the entire building.”

Jango whipped his head down to start incredulously. Then he slowly dragged his gaze around the room again, wondering how the hell they weren’t dead.

“...lucky shot,” he said eventually, getting his legs under him as he did.

Shaak rose with all the grace and dignity of a queen, smile perfectly demure as she surveyed her work with a pleased glint shining in her eyes. “Thank you. I’ve been practicing.”

“You have good form,” Jango commented lightly, eyes raking from montral to foot, checking for damages. He gestured to her head with one hand, feeling concern bubble in his chest. “How’s the hearing?”

Shaak gave him a piercing look before she softened it with a gentle smile. “I am fine, Jango, I assure you.”

He gave her a dubious look, choosing to just set Boba on her when they get back to him. “So how are we getting out of this mess, hmm? Brought the whole thing down.”

“Not  _ all _ of it,” Shaak said, picking her way delicately through the wreckage. She bent down, picking up her staff and brushing it off, only succeeding in smearing the soot across the surface. “There’s a path through, if we’re careful.”

Jango felt that sharp stab of suspicion again, something surfacing from his memory slowly. “And how do you know that?” The question came out sharper than he meant to, but he was just in a firefight and had a building dropped on his head, he’s allowed to be pissy.

His hard tone only got him a mild look, and Shaak tilted her head, lekku shifting.

Oh.

Well, now he felt like an idiot.

Shaak trilled again, and Jango felt his face heat. He blamed it on the smoldering flames.

“Let’s get back to your boy.”

“Right.”

  
  
  


It took longer than Jango wanted to get out of the wreckage, them often having to stop and reroute because  _ the wreckage was on fire _ .

“If you hadn’t shot the power exhaust,” Jango bitched quietly as Shaak helped him over a massive piece of duracrete, easily lifting him with one hand. He ignored how that made him feel, grunting as pushed himself up.

“If I hadn’t shot the exhaust,” Shaak said, serene as she easily leaped down the five foot drop, “we would have been shot by a repeater.”

Jango grimaced down at her, crouching on the edge above the drop. “Not sure this is better.”

“We are alive, Jango,” Shaak said to him, eyes reflecting the flames. “I will take this over your death.”

Well when she puts it like that.

“Fair.”

  
  
  


“Kriffing  _ finally _ ,” Jango groaned as he staggered out into the snow, coughing.

“ _ Buir! _ ”

Jango managed to look up just in time to see a dark blur come streaking towards him, and then a Boba shaped missile slammed into his gut. He went down hard, boot slipping on the snow, wheezing as he was kneed in his  _ gett’se _ . He coughed harshly, eyes watering. “B-Boba.”

Boba’s tearful face filled his vision, and Jango found himself curling around his son like he could protect him from the cruelty of the galaxy. “I-It blew up, and you were still in there, it was so  _ loud _ , I couldn’t see, you weren’t here, it  _ blew up _ -”

“Boba,” Shaak said in her low voice, kneeling next to them. “I would never let anything happen to your father, if I could prevent it.”

Jango twisted so he could rest his cheek on Boba’s head and look up at the togruta. She met his gaze, steady and firm as a mountain. It wasn’t just a reassurance to a crying child. She said it, believed it, and would make it into fact.

With the way she fought, he believed it.

Boba shifted so he was tucked firmly against Jango’s chest, hand gripping the burnt lapel of his coat. It took some interesting contortion on his part, but Jango managed to stand with Boba cradled in his arms. “C’mon, let’s get out of here before someone comes sniffing around.”

Shaak tipped her head in agreement, walking close to him and murmuring quietly to Boba, who was peering at her over his shoulder.

Jango wasn’t focused on that, mainly on keeping his feet working properly one step at a time. His ears were still ringing, and he stumbled occasionally, Shaak pressing a hand against his back to hold him steady.

They made their way back to the main road, ignoring the approaching sirens and people rushing to deal with the burning wreckage.

“Oh dear,” Shaak said suddenly, voice quiet as she laughed lightly into her hand.

“What now,” Jango said, exasperated and thoroughly  _ done _ with today.

“I left a casserole in the oven, and curry on the stove. That was well over six hours ago. I am fairly certain it’s unsalvageable now.”

Jango stopped, blindsided by the reminder that they were supposed to have dinner together and started to laugh. It was just quiet chuckles at first, rumbling through him, but soon devolved into full belly laughs.

He wheezed as he leaned up against a wall, Boba slipping from his arms as Jango struggled to stay upright. It wasn’t really that funny, but he couldn’t stop laughing. And when he caught sight of Boba’s disgruntled expression, pouty and confused, Jango collapsed to the ground, unable to breathe.

“ _ Buuuu _ ,” Boba whined, gripping Shaak’s charred skirts.

“I’m-I’m s-sorry,” Jango choked out, tears running down his face. Because of course,  _ of course _ , this is how the day ends.

Shaak gives him a look, eyes holding laughter as she picks Boba up and settles him on her hip, patiently waiting for him to calm down. Boba pouted in her arms, settling deeper into her hold. She made a face, and reached between her and Boba to pull out her lek, draping it over his son. “Come, Boba, let’s go see if we can salvage dinner, yes?”

Boba tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at Jango, and Jango grinned at him. Boba made a face at Jango, and tucked his head under Shaak’s chin. “We got pie.”

Shaak smiled, and pressed a brief kiss to Boba’s hair, smoothing the wild curls out of his face. Jango about melted into a pile of goo at the sight of this beautiful woman being so kind and warm with his son.

“Well then, not all is lost. Let’s have some pie, I believe I have some dessert teas somewhere…”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


This wasn’t exactly what Shaak had planned for dinner, but she believes that she prefers this anyway.

The casserole was nothing more than charcoal when she and Boba arrived at her apartment, Jango trailing them carrying that day’s purchases, and the curry was basically burnt lava. Shaak was lucky she had saved some of the mild curry for herself, and had crackers in the pantry, so they wouldn’t just be eating pure sugar. Much to Boba’s disappointment.

She also found a deck of cards, long forgotten in her pack, and a merry game of sabacc was now being played in between of absolutely divine pie.

“I can’t  _ believe _ you’re cheating at cards today of all days.”

Shaak smiled politely, using the cover of her new tea set, shyly gifted by her precious boys, to flick a card at Boba, holding direct eye contact with Jango as she did. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jango narrowed his eyes at her, gaze moving suspiciously between her and Boba. “You're in cahoots, and I don’t like it.”

Boba cackled at his father, nexu grin wide on his face. “ _ Bu _ ,  _ everyone _ cheats at cards.”

“I don’t.”

“Doubt,” Boba said cheerfully, laying out a Full Sabacc with careful movements.

Jango cursed, throwing his cards down and grumpily eating a piece of pie. Shaak trilled a laugh, grinning behind a hand as she relaxed into the bright feeling infusing the Force around the three of them, basking in the light.

Happy Giving Day, indeed.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Bu- diminutive of buir, meaning father  
> di'kut- idiot  
> Bo'ika- cute form of Boba  
> 'Lek- shortened form of elek, meaning yes or yeah. okay  
> kote- glory


End file.
